She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. Mike was draped over the laminate kitchen counter, on the phone as usual. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. She examined Michelle’s pale face. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. She stabbed him with her canines. ” In the car, John was wound up.
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